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this is a tribute.

In anniversary of her passing I have been reflecting on how much my mom loved life. Her true love of life surrounded the human variety and bringing babies into the world in the way of a labor and delivery nurse. The sparkle in her eye over the topic of babies was never fading and she always had a bag packed with the tools needed in the event she had to deliver for a pregnant teacher years later in life when she was no longer working in a hospital but rather an elementary school. I am sure she would have been elated for the chance to use it.

I wish I could carry on this legacy and that I had the stomach to do so, but unfortunately I don’t have the Brady altruistic career path gene. I also don’t do so well with such a large volume of body fluids and screaming. When fluffy, my male hamster, suddenly gave birth to a litter of baby hamsters while I was home with a stomach virus at age 8, Mom leveraged the opportunity to use t it as a teaching moment. I learned more than one lesson that day. First I learned to always question living gifts from my aunt. Second I learned to get separate cages for my two hamsters. And third I learned hamsters eat their live offspring regardless of whether or not you are home with the flu or not. It was a big day. I am getting off track. She was such a vibrant presence in my life, it is impossible for me to conceptualize that it has been 3 years without her. As she made sure to tell me nobody said life is fair. So a toast!
I hope your days are filled with the crispest champagne, the butteriest foie gras, the prime spot at the beach for sunset, the best patterned socks for monkey making, the comfiest first class seats for flying, the spiciest chili peppers, plentiful clams during eternal low tide, the most elegant yet unbreakable glasses for painting, the bluest hydrangeas that manage to survive more than a season, the best tag ,estate or yard sales and all around best bargains to be found, and most of all YMCA always queued up on the play list. Thinking of you keeps my heart whole. I know you are making heaven laugh every day. Lucky heaven! Je t’aime

I miss this!

I miss this!

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i’m back.

Yesterday was the first day it felt like spring and thus the appropriate time to wear a dress with bare legs. It also was the day for me to spill coffee on myself on my way to work, arrive at said workplace 30 minutes late due to train malfunctions, and miss the bus. You know the day. The crowning pre- 10 am moment was a run-in with one of the original rejecters of yours truly in the past year. He was one of the many (okay few) great first dates that were followed with enthusiastic plans to extend the fun with an immediate second only to never hear from this person ever again.

Picture it. Tinder. May 2014. A quiet architect with a fairly prominent lisp treats a newly employed gal to a delightful evening of flirtatious banter and libation. After said evening, our bashful gentleman follows up with an overly sentimental text indicating the evening as one of great joy. One that was so engaging and compelling he would have loved to continue to talk with this woman all night long. A little dramatic and cheesy? Absolutely! Appreciated? Totally! After a little light Internet stalking and wedding planning, it is official; the Future Mr. B has been selected.

Obviously I never heard from this person again, which I assumed was due to his relocation to the extremely remote island where all of my other abandoned dates reside. They typically don’t resurface on the cross-town bus so you can imagine my surprise when I saw him this AM. What is shocking to me is that this scenario has unfolded for nearly every woman I know. Meet a guy, have a sparkling evening; both parties mutually agree with enthusiasm the night was wonderful in every way. And then nothing. It seems this type of behavior is universal, however my sample happens to exclusively consist of gorgeous, smart, interesting women, which is even more baffling to me. I am no dummy, I understand the idea of being polite, but if a date wasn’t actually the best of your life or if you don’t actually want to talk all night, why don’t we just skip the dramatic overtures and all agree to keep it civil. Agreed?

P.S. We are just going to pretend like I wasn’t on a 20-year blogging hiatus.

This sad dumpster pillow cat has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

This sad dumpster pillow cat has absolutely nothing to do with this post.